After partnering with a Brazilian journalist to share the cost of a cab to the main beach, we passed along a newly-built highway straight to Pantai Cenang, which is also the main ‘tourist’ zone of the island. Some three kilometres of pristine coastline have been systematically blocked off by giant resort hotels and the beaches here are divided into tightly boxed sections for guests from each, while the sea itself has been split into small swimming sections and noticeably larger water-sports areas. We were staying at one of the last cheap hostels available within walking distance of a beach on the island, though we had to pretend to be resort guests in order to access the beach itself. With one notable exception, Langkawi was for us the island of disappointments. Back in 1968, the then Malaysian prime minister decided to ‘turn’ Langkawi into a tourist destination and began by granting it duty-free status. As the cheap drinks began to flow, so did the resorts and everything from the Four Seasons to the Hilton has laid claim to a patch. There are many smaller, less developed islands which make up Langkawi as a whole (actually around 99 in total) and we have been told that those to the North East in particular are still relatively secluded but accessing these on a budget can be a bit of a challenge. Our main reason for stopping here was to catch a ferry to Koh Lipe in Thailand where we hoped to cross the border in a relaxed, beach hut environment but even though we knew the main island was ‘touristy’ we weren’t quite prepared for what we had walked into: the hostel we were staying in was something akin to a club 18-30 holiday camp if one were run out of makeshift cabins surrounding a paddling pool full of ducks. The owner would spend all day sitting by the inflatable pool scattering duck seed while listening to the Badminton results on the radio, an activity he’d replace in the evening with poker and loud drum n’ bass until 3 a.m. The ‘beautiful white-sand beach’ we’d read about in the guidebook was actually a jellyfish-infested and oil-polluted stretch of water and litter-covered sand.

After spending a depressing hour or so in our dimly lit cabin questioning why we had come here, we decided to make the best of the situation by making full use of our beach-blocking neighbour’s pool and exploring the lusher inner parts of the island (which thankfully have been granted national park status). The Langkawi that you see when you step off the mainstream tourist trail is actually well worth exploring. We had read about a couple of local Malaysian naturalists who run highly recommended guided nature treks (see Dev’s Adventure Tours or Jungle Walla) and who only observe and never feed or interfere with the wildlife, so we decided that we would go on one of these in an attempt to restore our dented enthusiasm for the island. We opted to go on the early morning hill trek with a view to spotting some of the island’s famous bird residents. We were picked up just before dawn, though our guide had inadvertently woken up the ducks and dogs and subsequently half the hostel while trying to find our cabin. Leaving behind the quacking and barking, we were soon amongst much quieter, misty fields where we stopped to watch the dawn break. The first bird that our guide spotted was a White-throated Kingfisher, which was perched on an electric wire serenely absorbing the first warming rays of the dawn sun. After a brief pause, we continued to drive further up the mountain that makes up the north of the island. The guide stopped and pointed to a distant tree, where we could see a small dark-blue bird with a long hanging tail that looked like a pair of eyes. It was a Drongo, a word meaning idiot in Australian but in reality it is anything but as one of its main functions is to warn other birds and animals of approaching predators in return for the pick of the mid-morning insects. It is also a brilliant mimic: we heard it impersonate three or four other species while standing near by, a little like the Lyre birds we’d heard in Australia.

Our journey carried on up through the rainforest road which was alive with a tropical dawn chorus, courtesy of both birds and monkeys who we could hear cracking branches in the canopies above. Our guide spotted a few other species before we heard the whoosh, whoosh sound of some large wing-beats. It had begun to lightly rain and our guide had a look of intense concentration on his face.
He led us slowly around a corner and there in the canopy of a large forest tree was a Great Hornbill drying its wings in the sun.

It looked almost pterodactyl-like and we weren’t surprised to hear that the Great Hornbill is amongst the largest of its species. It seemed that the light dawn rain was in our favour as we went on to see many more Great Hornbills gather in the trees and whoosh over our heads. We were also lucky enough to spot the significantly smaller Oriental Pied Hornbill, the rare sight of a pair of Wreathed Hornbills who were also drying off in the sun, a Giant Squirrel, some Dusky Langur Monkeys and a few Macaques. After a brief visit to the peak and a pit stop in our guide’s uncle’s restaurant for a Malaysian brunch of omelette pancake and a Teh Tarik, we were taken to some open pastures to spot Kingfishers. Sadly we didn’t see any more but we did spot Green Bee Eaters, Golden Orioles, Bitterns, Snakes, Herons and a Pitcher Plant. We were also shown how to make natural plasters by wetting and rolling the leaves of a local plant until it made a gummy paste, which the locals use to stick over and heal wounds. After this trip, Langkawi suddenly didn’t seem so bad after all and even the ducks and the hostel dogs were slightly more endearing on our return (though this feeling sadly never extended to the post midnight drum n’ bass). We were glad that our stay had ended on a brighter note but were both excited and relieved at the prospect of setting off the next morning with a mission to cross the Thai border by sea.

The best way to explore Penang is on foot, so we decided to kick things off by walking to the historic Chinese enclave of Khoo Khongsi. This is an iconic courtyard surrounded by old clan houses and temples but it also contains an outdoor market (the bicycle equivalent of a car boot sale) where we saw people selling everything from home-made bracelets to old 1980′s TVs and antique mobile phones. Nearby, we passed Lebuh Armenian (Armenian Street), a local gathering spot for coffee-fans and artists, with mural-adorned shops selling Chinese antiques and warehouses flogging door frames and bookshelves. As dusk began to set in we wound our way from the Chinese district to Little India which smelled of spices and incense. The tempo of this district was slightly more frenetic than that of the tea-sipping Chinese enclave. Perhaps it was the time of day but the boom boxes were out and Little India was throbbing to the beats of Bhangra music emanating from pirate DVD stalls. The hawkers were also out thrashing at thick rods of bamboo and baking chapatis on the side of the road. Others loudly advertised their wares or lit more incense while fat tourists began to emerge from side streets at every turn being carried by straining rickshaw cyclists.

We journeyed through the heady incense mists back to our guest house for a quick outdoor shower amidst some energetic rooftop swooping swallows, before heading back out again to sample some of Penang’s famous street food. The local hawker stalls serve some of the best food in the city and each specialise in something different so it’s worth visiting a few. The grandmother of our B&B’s owner gave us a few recommendations which included Koey Teow soup and sweet pancakes, so we tracked down the stalls serving each and took a seat. Like most street food stall routines – you order your food from the stall, grab one of the plastic chairs and tables along the roadside and wait for the stall owner to track you down with your order. At the end you put your plastic dishes and chopsticks back in a big washing bucket where someone diligently turns them around for the next crowd. See here for more detail on the foodie delights of Penang.

Our visit to Penang was all too brief and if we hadn’t already booked a ferry to Langkawi for the following day we would definitely have stayed longer as there is a lot to explore here. We were up at dawn the next morning to catch our ferry but took a few moments to watch the swallows dart over the tiled rooftops which surrounded our outdoor bathroom. I never knew that washing from a makeshift, cold water sink could be so magical but Penang is full of surprises.

After what seemed like the longest drive I’d ever been on, we finally reached Tanah Rata and made our way through the notorious highland rain to our accommodation. We’d tried to book into a hostel that we’d read about called Father’s Guest House, but the church which owns the land the hostel was on had recently decided to take it back and so we were taken to their other guest house, Gerard’s Place. It was about 10 minutes walk from the town and was located in a complex of mock Tudor buildings, slightly reminiscent of an Austrian ski chalet village. Jay, our host, was very welcoming and gave us many good tips on local walks and wildlife. She was part of a local environmental group called REACH (Regional Environmental Awareness Cameron Highlands) who not only aim to educate and inform the local population about current environmental issues but also actively monitor local problems such as increased pollution levels in rivers due to farming run-off. They are a very impressive grassroots organisation and also serve as a refreshing example of what people can do when they group together for a cause.

The guest house itself was a very relaxing base from which to explore the surrounding area. In true highlands style, it was very wet but we decided to take a trip to the ‘BOH’ Sungai Palas tea plantation, which is one of the oldest in the highlands. I had seen pictures of tea plantations before but was not prepared for just how extensive it was. Despite being a man-moulded landscape, I couldn’t help but find it beautiful – especially when the mists rolled gently over the hill peaks. The walk through the plantation may have been damp (though strangely this didn’t deter a wedding party whose bride and groom were being photographed, posing among the tea hedges), but the café at the end was definitely worth the trek. The ‘BOH’ tea café overhangs the plantation from an elevated height, providing spectacular 360 degree views of the rolling hills. The choice of teas was fantastic and unlike KL, there wasn’t a condensed milk carton in sight, which made for a welcome change. This, in combination with the damp weather and scones with local strawberry jam almost made me feel like I was sitting in a countryside café back at home. This thought was soon interrupted however, by several small dots which came into vision, moving around the hedges, dragging huge sacks of tea leaves behind them. A couple appeared to have clippers, which is a now old fashioned method of tea picking and has become increasingly rare in recent years thanks to the introduction of electric, tea-stalk-cutting strimmers. Some locals argue that this has had a negative impact on the taste of the tea but as the pickers are paid by the kilo (and at only 20 cents per kilo), you can hardly blame them for making use of this newly available machinery. A local man, whose mother had been a tea picker some 20 years ago, told us that there are no longer many Malaysians working on the plantations as the owners prefer to employ cheaper foreign labour from Indonesia, the Philipines and Nepal. The workers are usually signed up for a minimum of two years, during which time they live in huts (pictured above) in the plantation grounds. The tea harvesters we met seemed in good spirits – perhaps working in such lush, green surroundings helps – but there’s not doubt that it’s hard work which it’s easy to forget about when buying mega packs of tea bags in the supermarket (most of which incidentally contain cheap tea dust rather than actual tea leaves).

The next day brought even more rain than the day before but as it was our last in the highlands, we decided to make the most of it by hiking along one of the jungle trails to the Robinson falls. We had been tempted to embark on a longer walk in search of a Rafflesia (the largest known, and perhaps worst smelling, flower in the world) which was currently in bloom in the highlands, but after a couple of disappointing reports from other trekkers who had returned to our accommodation drenched, covered in mud and pretty miserable, we decided to forego it in favour of the easier path. The river that runs through Tanah Rata had started to swell and was running furiously alongside the jungle path, its banks barely containing the strong earthy-brown current. The walk snaked by some of the infamous highland strawberry farms, as well as several home made jam stalls before turning into a more densely forested area where the rain mists thickly gathered at canopy level. After crossing several bridges and shallow streams, we reached the falls which were thundering down a ravine. The town of Tanah Rata was only about 20 minutes away on foot but this felt like a different world, one through which elephants and tigers used to freely prowl. Sadly, as the human presence increased in the highlands, their habitat quickly diminished and in 1974 an elephant trans-location group was set up to move any ‘problem’ elephants away from the highlands, to various national parks and sanctuaries.  Some say that the highlands lost something when this was allowed to take place and that wild beauty was sacrificed in favour of the creation of a sort of controlled tourist park atmosphere (something which the British undoubtedly had a hand in creating – many of the highlands’ villas still bear the unmistakable marks of the British penchant for clipped lawns and manicured gardens). As long as there are groups such as REACH campaigning against further deforestation and unnecessary development however, I can’t help but feel that the highlands still stands a fighting chance.

Our first couple of days were mainly spent adjusting to life back on land and exploring the Chinatown area in which our guesthouse was situated. We had been told that the best food was to be found in the hawker stalls which line the street pavements at night, so we ventured out to track some down and give it a try. The vibrancy of the crowded streets was almost too much to absorb after nearly a month at sea, with brightly coloured Chinese lanterns, flowers, watches, fake DVDs and handbags at every turn. Pots and pans bubbled away at various makeshift stalls while people crouched around plastic tables wolfing down their food from plastic bowls, which were soon whisked away for a soapy clean in one of the many makeshift washing tubs. Refreshingly, the Chinatown district of KL seems to have staved off the fast-paced corporatisation which has bulldozed over other parts of the city (it was strange to think that the Petronas Towers and mega-shopping complexes were lurking somewhere nearby).  The decaying villas, ramshackle housing and bustling street scenes of the Chinatown district were reminiscent of those described in colonial-era literature such as The Singapore Grip, which was set in the 40′s. Our guesthouse, for example, was situated alongside some beautiful pre-WW1 shop houses such as The Old China Café next door, which operates out of the old guild hall of the Selangor & Federal Territory Laundry Association. In 1999, the rent control act was repealed and many older businesses in the district have since been forced to move out, resulting in a surge of wealthier business owners edging in, many of whom have carelessly renovated or in some cases completely demolished a number of KL’s historic older buildings. It was refreshing to come across places like The Old China Café, which make the effort to retain the spirit and features of the old buildings. The OCC has even created an excellent late night tea parlour upstairs reminiscent of those which were once a common sight in this part of the city. Some things don’t change however and the sounds and smells of KL had started to bring back memories from my childhood spent in Hong Kong which made me very excited at the thought of returning there further down the line in our journey.

Getting into the spirit of Farrell’s Singapore Grip, I decided I couldn’t leave KL without trying a Durian, something of a local fruity delicacy. Striking fear into the hearts of hotel-owners everywhere, the pulp of this spiky fruit has a similar texture to stringy processed cheese and tastes something akin to caramelised leeks. The overpowering and distinctive smell however, is what really earns Durian its reputation – as I was soon to discover. The Durian segment I had bought was wrapped in a layer of cling-film and two layers of plastic bags, but even this did not stop its pungent odour from escaping. Having quickly exited the local supermarket for fear that it had a major gas leak, it was only when we were back at the guesthouse that I realised the gas odour was actually leaking from the Durian bag and was quickly beginning to waft its way around the hostel (the many ‘no Durian’ signs we later saw in hotels throughout SE Asia made complete sense after this).

Having exposed some unwilling participants to the delights of this love/hate fruit, we were glad we were only staying one more night at the guesthouse. On our final evening in the city, we decided to go slightly further afield to visit the Petronas Towers, which are based in a strange ‘business zone’ (like Canary Wharf) to the east of the city centre. They were the tallest buildings we had seen since leaving New York and I felt quite sick from some kind of inverse vertigo within seconds of looking up. The towers were actually built by Malaysia’s large nationalised petrol company (who else could afford such a ridiculously tall building here?), so we weren’t surprised to see a museum dedicated to petrol nearby, which we mentally added to our list of weird museums alongside the Pencil Museum in the Lake District and the Tomato Museum in Guernsey.  A shopping mall is housed at the base of the towers, the magnitude of which is almost alarming .  The vast store locater map alone was enough to produce a sense of acute fatigue. We battled on however and spent an hour in the place trying to track down somewhere which sold a padlock and for that hour it felt like we had left Malaysia and entered some strange clinical world where everything is sponsored by petrol guzzling vehicles. It was also strange to see middle-of-the-road shops from the UK and Australia trying to pass themselves off as designer boutiques, with the exorbitant price tags to match. We were genuinely excited however, to find a Marks and Spencer food store, full of bargain-bin Christmas chocolate – which almost made the draining mega mall experience worth it.

Having replenished our chocolate supply, we geared ourselves up for a four hour bus trip to the Cameron Highlands the next day. We were looking forward to being amongst greenery again and hoped that we’d finally be able to enjoy a good cup of tea after two months of Lipton.